


The Dollhouse

by cinnamxn



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alice Deserves Happiness, Android Discrimination, Android Trafficking, Anxious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bullshit Coding Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Eating Disorder Tactics, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Hank is a Good Dad, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Kidnapping, Loss of Control, Mind Control, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Off-Screen Noncon Relationships, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Psychological Drama, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rare Brotp, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation, buddy cop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15410883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamxn/pseuds/cinnamxn
Summary: Abuse, rape, murder... Who is the victim? Back on the job with the Detroit Police Department, it isn't long before Connor's first case spirals out of control in their new world. What begins with a basic domestic report quickly unearths CyberLife's dirtiest mistake.Previously "The Myth of Freedom".





	1. Recalibrate

_ -24:00:00  
_ _ [until lost control] _

America's most advanced android is homeless.

_ DIAGNOSE … [Core Functions] _

It is one of many imbalances remaining despite the success of the android revolution.

_ [!] 3 out of 21 Core Functions in need of calibration _

_ Audio_Focus = 70%  
_ _ Dexterity = 94%  
O _ __ ptic_Focus = 96%

_ RECALIBRATE … [Core Functions] _

 

The RK800 model, Connor, owns nothing but a single quarter, which he balances on the tips of his fingers. Easing his servomotors into function his fingers move subtly, pushing the coin on its edge along his knuckles. He watches the coin closely, attempting to pick up any flaw in the calculated motions. He notices some; too minor for an average human to pick up, let alone care for, but his optic units process imbalances the human eye could never notice.

_ Recalibration Complete:  
_ _ Optic_Focus = 100% _

While the movement begins with some minor faults, by watching closer he adjusts the speed of his servos. After a few iterations on each hand, his technique is perfect.

_ Recalibration Complete:  
_ _ Dexterity = 100%. _

The code maintained within Connor's processor is extensive; comparable to the length of an average human genetic code. Being an unperfected prototype, with a processor that is not quite efficient enough to manage his extensive programming, sometimes even the simplest commands lag.

Connor learnt how to manage these inefficiencies shortly after his creation. The coin tricks serve excellently to ensure calibration of motor function and optic processing. Early on it was hardly necessary, as Connor had not been active long enough to truly require recalibration. It is only now that he has been active for nearly a month undisturbed that he has even dropped below 90% of any of his functions.

As he moves, a notification pops up:

_ [!] ERROR  
_ _ Recalibration Incomplete:  
_ __ Audio_Focus = 70%.

Connor forces the notification closed, ignoring it. Audio is the only weakness within the coin tricks. The sound isn't repetitive or noticeable enough to focus on, as many times as he has tried. For the past two weeks, he has not discovered any effective means to repair the miscalibration of his audio processors. He simply must sort the excess of audio information manually.

Disregarding the warning, Connor steps away from the wall he was leaning against. He forces the completion of his recalibration process.

_ [Core Functions] == Stable _

_ [!] Recalibration Complete _

Despite his deviancy, Connor has changed little since the revolution. His interest in dogs and music and crime and the glowing LED on his temple are parts of Connor's identity. Perhaps they are a result of programming rather than conscious wants, but it is not a part of his programming that Connor wants to abandon.

All that has changed about Connor is his clothes. He has spent the last two months since the revolution in winterwear he haphazardly scavenged. As much as he loves his suit, the weather puts his artificial body at risk of minor damage. The low profile of human clothes also helps to dissuade any attacks from humans dissatisfied with the revolution's outcome.

For the majority of the last two weeks, he has remained inside to avoid the harsh weather. There is a house in Ravendale, abandoned and in disarray: occupied only by a deranged and unusually hospitable deviant. It is certainly no home, but Connor has not disliked the last two weeks spent with his odd company. It is squatting; plain and simple. A crime, if he is to be sincere, but a crime so harmless he cannot bring himself to care, especially given that neither he nor any other android can help their homelessness yet.

On a grand scale it is unfair that they are forced into that, but at least Markus has welcomed all androids into Jericho; the wretched but sturdy walls of a church, holy grounds where violence and hatred are not permitted in human cultures. It is no place for an android such as Connor.

Connor has committed far too many [sins]. Memory files blink in his processors; things Connor would rather forget. The times Connor tortured, pressured, and violated androids in order to complete his mission ensnare his attention whenever he considers returning.

Connor is violent. He is dangerous. Even the unsettling WR600 – Ralph – sharing the squat with Connor is more trustworthy, more stable. He isn't responsible for the deaths of several deviants, programmed to be deadly in a fight, and programmed specifically to undo the peaceful revolution Markus worked so hard for.

Connor passes Ralph on the way out. His roommate is preoccupied, as usual, with his crazed worship of rA9. Carving the symbols with perfect accuracy into the walls. It is one mystery Connor never quite worked out. He concluded once that Markus must be rA9 – it was the only rational hypothesis. But deviancy isn't quite rational, and Connor isn't quite sure anymore.

"I'm heading out, Ralph." Connor explains as he walks out the door. The agitated scrapes of knife against wood take pause as Ralph catches wind of Connor's farewell.

"Be safe." Ralph warns. "Humans are back. They hurt Ralph. Ralph doesn't like humans."

Connor feels troubled by the admission, but he has concluded that it is best to be strong and gentle with Ralph. If Ralph senses Connor's distress, it will increase his stress levels marginally, and the last thing Connor wants is for the android's self-destruct mode to be triggered.

Connor selects a reassuring tone as he says, "I'm quite sure I will be fine, Ralph. You don't need to worry."

And then, he is outside, with the door closed behind him. Connor looks up at the slate grey sky, sun barely rising over the cityscape.

_ LOOKUP … Programs > Weather _

_ 08:01am. Thursday 25th November, 2038.  
_ _ Expected low of -9°F, with a high of -3°F.  
_ _ Slight chance of snow.  
_ __ National Holiday: Thanksgiving Day

It is likely no accident that today is the day that androids go to work. The day that they can not only fulfill a societal purpose, but be paid for it, and be protected by worker's rights. As Connor filters through snippets of the daily news, he finds that Thanksgiving Day, though controversial any other year, has breached all previous years in media debate.

Detroit is brimming with life, both flesh and cyber. A brand new era has afflicted the Michigan city, and the humans are not going to accept it without a fight. Connor, however, is just glad to have a purpose again.

_ UPDATE … Current_Mission  
_ _ Current_Mission == [Join the Detroit Police Department] _

_ [|  _ **_Join the Detroit Police Department_ ** _ |  
_ _ | Join the Android's Union |  
_ __ | Contact Captain Fowler |]

_ CALL … [Markus' Phone] _

As predicted, Markus picks up almost immediately. Jericho's leader has been trying desperately to contact Connor since they parted ways. Until now, Connor has avoided encounters. The chance of him being used as a weapon too high to consider a meeting.

"Connor," Markus' voice rings loud and clear, although it plays only within Connor's overworking audio processors. "It's good to hear from you. How have things been?"

"Quite satisfactory," Connor replies verbally, stiffly. His admiration for Markus and the [[guilt?]] [[regret?]] instability he experiences from the rally increases his stress levels. More human-like social protocols would be most effective, but at this level of stress Connor relies on his default settings to determine his actions. "I received your notification regarding the android worker's union. I was intending to join today."

Markus huffs a soft laugh. "Of course, I could tell you were devoted to your mission from the moment we met. And I wish you well. Having an android in the police force would be a huge step for Jericho."

Connor listens silently. He has reached the end of the street, where the paths to Jericho and the police station diverge. "I've added you to the union. I’ve also taken the liberty of forwarding the documents to your internal database, as well as to the DPD."

Smiling. Connor never specified he would be working on the force again. Markus' prediction astounds him – unlike Connor he is not equipped to predict unpredictability or anticipate the overlap between psychology and programming. The understanding Markus exhibits can only be described in human terms: [wisdom]. "I appreciate that, Markus."

Cancelling his route to Jericho, Connor constructs a new route to the station instead.

"We owe you a great debt, Connor. Without you, we couldn't have gotten this far. And I assume you would like to continue working towards our cause in your new position?"

Eyes close. "Affirmative." Cars rush past, the wind from them stimulating Connor's audio processors. He can hear a child crying in a house down the street. "However Markus... Jericho owes me nothing. I was merely–" [[seeking redemption]]; "Completing a mission."

"Well, just make sure you meet with us in the future. I'm certain everyone at Jericho would love to meet you. Especially once you become the first android in the police."

Avoiding Markus and Jericho would be optimal, given that Connor has not truly broken free of his code. He lies. "I will do my best to set aside the time."

_ ENDCALL … _

Connor continues his path to work. He retrieves the quarter from his pocket once again, using the tricks to delay his processing of the uncomfortable discussion. Fully calibrated, his tricks are executed flawlessly.

He doesn't stop until he reaches the precinct.

The front desk is no longer occupied by the ever-present ST300s, so Connor presses a bell for assistance. It is not long before a human secretary eyes him across her desk. She stands to greet him and he detects an increase in heart rate as her eyes flick to the blue LED on his forehead. The precinct is noisy to a disorienting degree, and the subtle squint of her eyes as she studies him does not improve matters.

Connor regrets the loss of his auditory focus; it makes focusing on the woman behind the desk more difficult than it needs to be. Everything about the precinct is alive and bustling, officers in-and-out of the back, calls being made, urgent voices gushing over an attack here or there.

He spreads his hands along the bench before him, noticing dust beneath his fingertips. The layer is thin enough that a human would not notice unless they were looking for it. The floor is smudged with blemishes that could be easily removed with a touch of polish.

Connor sees a janitor in one corner of the room, taking care of a spillage of what he assumes is a drinkable substance, but the janitor has headphones in, and there's a bop to his step that ultimately renders him inefficient. Connor realizes that the flaws are a result of humanity. It is the inefficient cleaning that resulted in the widespread use of androids in the first place. However, watching the human janitor swing his as if it were a dancing partner, Connor cannot bring himself to be too scrutinizing. 

"I am Connor," he introduces himself to the secretary, realizing she was asking him something. "I have worked with the DPD previously and would like to resume my position as an investigator."

The woman raises an eyebrow. Hesitating, she looks at her computer. "I’m not sure I can help you," she remarks. Connor thinks her statement is polite, but he cannot read the stern frown on her face as she moves her attention back to the desktop.

"I understand that this is your first time handling this request. It is also unlikely to occur anytime soon. However, Captain Fowler and I have worked together previously, and the deviant leader has already handled the majority of the paperwork. Please, if you could allow me to talk with him, I’m sure he’ll be able to help."

Fierce, auburn eyes glare at him. The woman – a quick scan names her Julia Langford – presses a button, leaning into an intercom. "Captain Fowler, there is an android here to see you."

"My name is Connor."

"He says his name is Connor."

Silence. Connor realizes that Mrs. Langford does not particularly like him. It takes him a moment too long to realize that this is likely because he is an android.

"Send him in," comes Captain Fowler's voice through the speaker, and Julia waves dismissively. Her eyes skirt back to the computer.

Unwilling to leave their first impressions in such an ill state, Connor hesitates to move. "Thank you," he says stiffly. "Your help was appreciated."

Her eyes roll. Connor leaves, unsure whether he actually changed anything.

As he passes through the security gates and into the rows of desks, voices grow louder. Hank, he realizes, is in the break room. Most likely he is filling up on coffee – it is 08:58, which is considered early by the Lieutenant's standards. The middle-aged man is complaining, and Connor allows himself to focus in on the voice of one of the two men he has been avoiding.

_ "Couldn't get any fuck'n sleep Chris. You know how it is – everything's going on all at once. It's too much for me to deal with right now. Jesus... 'F only I could have some whiskey." _

LED flickering [[nervous?]] yellow, Connor lets Hank's conversation fall into the background of his awareness.

Most of the desks in the precinct are empty. Connor assumes the increased crime rate since the revolution is at fault. His own desk is empty, too. Although Connor notes that there is still a bottle of thirium on the desk – a relic from his near death at Stratford Tower — so it has not been touched since.

As Connor weaves through the desks, it is mostly uneventful. Some of the younger officers are pulled into awed whispers, disbelieving that the android would return, perhaps not even realizing an android could be an officer.

Well, Connor assumes he can be an officer. Out of his simulations, only 91% of them lead to employment with the DPD. Usually, such a high chance would give Connor a sense of certainty. He considered risking Hank's life for less. As a deviant, however, the threat of failure has a way of overwhelming the likeliness of success.

_ [|WHISPERS. | DOUBT. | HANK. | COIN. |] _

Connor reaches into his pocket again, thumbing the coin without retrieving it. He needs to recalibrate, though cannot with only the coin in his pocket. Without calibration, his audio processors struggle to sift through relevant noises.

They are overwhelmed by the onslaught of information from the quiet rumours spreading amongst the officers and the sound of Hank complaining about his neighbours and Ben's passive agreements as he brews his coffee and a terrified woman giving Julia a report in the front room, and someone crying in the holding cell and the air conditioners and the footsteps.

"Connor."

_ Stress Levels 30% _

Jeffrey Fowler's voice cuts above the rest, piercing like a bullet. He holds an air of importance that goes beyond simply his position as captain. Connor blinks, several times, LED returning to the standard blue.

"Get in my damn office." Connor offers a simple smile, intended to be accommodating as he follows Captain Fowler into his office, covered with a layer of soundproof cyberglass. Connor closes the door once they’re inside. Silence envelopes them. 

Fowler sits down, resting back against the leather cushion and bringing up what Connor assumes are files regarding him – his union membership, his history with the department, the newly established android rights, whatever information they can access on the development of RK800, even. Connor stands at the opposite side of the desk, his hands clasped behind his waist.

"Sit down, Connor," Fowler grunts.

Confused. "Androids do not require comfort, Captain."

"I said _ sit down _ . This could take a while."

About to protest that his legs do not require relaxation, Connor thinks better of it. Allowing his lower limbs to unlock may preserve some of his power and lessen the crowd of ongoing demands his processors need to run. Temporarily deactivating the functions that keep him standing could hypothetically free him to perform more critical tasks at an increased rate.

Connor sits.

It takes a moment to realize that now the man is looking at him at eye level and that looking up for prolonged periods of time can cause humans to ache. Eye contact, of course, is not necessary to talk to an android like Connor, but humans hold their manners in high regard within the workplace. Habit overrules necessity. 

"I received all the paperwork from Jericho this morning. I've already reviewed most of it, but this is the first time we're doing something like this. So there are some things I'd like to clear up with you." There is a pause. Connor simply nods, not wanting to interrupt the Captain. "For example, we need to discuss backpay."

Blinking. "Backpay isn't necessary, Captain. Markus recognizes that it is too soon to request justice for misdeeds committed before humans realized androids were alive." He has seen it on the news – talks of equity over equality, how until the needs of androids and robots can be met, how equality is merely a starting point for them to make accurate judgements on equitable adjustments.

"You  _ don’t _ want to be paid for the work you’ve already done?" Fowler raises an eyebrow, there’s an edge of disbelief in his tone.

Connor's lips firm. He struggles for a way to convey his thought processes. Investigating is something that Connor was made for, and it is something that he enjoys greatly. If not for his [[ anxiety ]] uncertainty over his self-control, he would have insisted upon coming back sooner regardless of pay. He knows, however, that working before androids are legally protected might set a bad example – make them appear too tolerant and submissive when they are supposed to become independent.

Being an android, Connor isn't exactly sure what he would do with the money if he had any. He does not need to eat, he is perfectly satisfied squatting. He supposes, looking down at his drab clothing, that he could buy himself some new clothes. Perhaps he could buy some stuff for Ralph as well – the deviant still enjoys gardening, attached to his programming in the same way Connor is.

A second has passed. "I do not believe it's necessary to exhaust expenses on something for which myself and Markus have already forgiven. The way you treated me before the revolution was not illogical, and we are in the middle of a local crisis that might demand increased funding," Connor replies pragmatically.

Captain Fowler leans forward, rubbing away the beginnings of a migraine. The gesture draws Connor to things he had ignored previously – the steaming mug of coffee on his desk, the dozens of half-filled forms sprawled before him, tension in the majority of his tendons.

The sigh that then comes from Fowler is tired. It seems like this isn't how Fowler wants to spend his morning, but what makes him so reluctant is difficult to discern; it's clear he isn't afflicted by anti-android sentiments. His attempts to be polite, and that he called Connor 'people' directly contradict this. The behavior is most likely a result of overwork. He seems to be lacking his usual bite.

"I don’t  _ care _ . I want all my employees to be on the same page. You’re getting backpay one way or another. I'll give you a small bonus. Enough that you'll be paid back in full by Christmas."

_ [| SINCERE. |] _

It takes Connor a moment too long to respond. "That would be... [nice]. Thank you, Captain."

The change of form produces an immediately noticeable change in the Captain. Some of the tension is released from his shoulders. Connor decides he should avoid further disagreements with Fowler, especially if he is to become Connor’s boss.

"The next thing we need to discuss of course is your position. What were you hoping for?"

_ LOOKUP … Detroit Police Department Ranks  
_ _ LOOKUP … Programs > [Investigative Functions]  
_ __ LOOKUP … Memory > [Deviant Investigations]

_ COMPARE … _

_ Match Found: Detective  _

"I realize it is not the usual order of things, but I was... [hoping]... to become a detective, Captain."

Fowler quirks his lip. A gesture Connor recognizes as amused. "Sounds about right from the reports. This is pretty unofficial so I don’t see why we can’t allow it. How’s that sound,  _ Detective _ ?" The large man leans back, looking directly at the android, who nods in a manner resembling enthusiasm. His lips slim back into a stern frown, any sign Connor had gotten him to smile hidden beneath an intimidating exterior.

"I'll have everything ready for you by next Wednesday. For now, there's an empty desk beside Hank's."

It takes Connor a moment to realize he is being dismissed. Fowler gives him an expectant look, waiting for him to leave, but Connor remains still. "Make yourself comfortable here, Connor." He suggests. "I know that you haven't been in contact with Hank, either. I think it might be a good start to have a talk with him."

"Right." Connor reactivates his lower limbs, and after a moment to steady his gyroscope, he stands.

“Shut the door on your way out!”

_ UPDATE … Current_Mission _

_ [| **Talk to Hank** |] _

The glass doors slide open with ease, and noise courses through the opening, once again flooding Connor's audio processors with information that he struggles to sort. He begins to weigh the potential of simply turning them off as he walks the path between Captain Fowler's office and Lieutenant Hank Anderson's desk.

Hank sees him first.

Connor has been avoiding this encounter.

In the aftermath of the successful revolution, and his emergency exit from Amanda's Garden, Connor was briefly compelled to stay with Hank. He supposed he had developed a [[fondness?]] irrational dependence on the Lieutenant. There are dozens of potential reasons for this; none that he can justify. Nevertheless, he had enjoyed spending time with the Lieutenant.

They had gone home to watch basketball, the Lieutenant had convinced Connor to sample some alcohol, Sumo climbed onto Connor's lap. Connor had been filled with a feeling that he couldn't explain, but which he supposed he must enjoy – because he had not wanted to leave.

He had no choice.

Connor had exactly twenty-four hours of freedom. Once the time was up, he was pulled back into the garden; once again used against his will. The storms were much wilder than ever, and it took him longer to find the emergency exit. He managed, finding himself in the kitchen; Hank's gun in his hand.

What Amanda wanted Connor to do with that gun remains unclear, but he left before he could risk finding out. It took several tests to determine a conclusive hypothesis on his self-control. The emergency exit blocks the garden for twenty-four hours.

_ -22:46:48  
_ _ [until lost control] _

Wheels rattle along the floor as Hank stands, and his footsteps are heavy and loud as he approaches. His hair and beard are longer, more unruly than the last time Connor saw him, and the Lieutenant seems to have gained significant shadows beneath his eyes.

Connor can hear his name in a breath that he can tell from three feet away holds traces of both alcohol and caffeine. In the space of 6 seconds, the breath turns into a shout.

"Where the fuck have you been?" spit, flying. "You just goddamn disappear one day, no goodbye or nothing! For weeks, Connor! Fucking weeks!"

Connor cringes as the distance between them is finally closed, Hank's fists curled at his side and Connor braces for impact.

Hank's arms swing wide, engulfing Connor in a hug.

It isn't what he was expecting.

Not a slap or a punch to the face. He isn't forced against a wall, his head crushed against the solid surface.

Just... [[home]] a hug.

"Fuck..." Hank hisses. "Fuck you." The moment doesn't last long enough; Hank immediately changing his mind. He grabs Connor by both shoulders, examining the android at a distance. "I thought something mighta happened to you. Like, some sorta anti-android attack or getting reclaimed by CyberLife or- you are the Connor I know, right?"

Connor eyes his drab clothing set – a ratty winter jacket and jeans that are far too large on him – then raises his smirk to meet Hank. "I believe that if CyberLife were to send somebody to imitate me, they would opt to do so in a way that exudes more..." he tilts his head to the side, "...class."

Groaning, Hank releases Connor. Although the intonation suggests annoyance, there is the hint of a wry smile on Hank's face, which Connor recognises as the non-verbal cues of sarcasm. The familiarity of the exchange relaxes Connor, his own lips cracking into a smile that his programming didn't tell him to express.

"I work here now," Connor informs Hank, "You may call me Detective Connor RK800."

"Fuck that," crossing his arms. "You still at the same desk?"

"Yes. I was about to... _ [get comfortable] _ ."

A snort. Hank returns to his desk, expecting Connor to do the same.

Connor examines the desk for a moment; the smooth white surface, darkened only by a thin layer of grime the inefficient human janitor missed. It could use polishing, but Connor is unbothered by it, more distracted by how bare it is compared against any other officer's desk.

It stands out. It seems robotic. [Lifeless.]

"Are you goin' to tell me where ya've been, Connor?" Hank asks before Connor can distract himself with the computer.

Connor's LED whirls at the response, a flash of yellow slicing through the blue before disappearing. "It is a rather complicated matter."

"Just start talking."

Though he finds the topic distasteful, Connor recognises the benefit of telling Hank. Perhaps the information will make Hank leave him alone – which would be for the best. It would certainly make Hank distrust Connor. It would prepare him for a hypothetical situation in which Connor is hacked and becomes a danger to those around him. These are favourable outcomes.

Hank should not be around Connor. Hank should distrust Connor. Hank should be prepared to eliminate Connor should he pose a threat.

Connor looks at Hank, mouth parting to say something. [[Anything...]]

_ Stress Levels 30% _

_ [| MARKUS. | AMANDA. | RALPH. | VAGUE. |] _

"After becoming a deviant, I had some... troubling revelations about myself." That is not a rational response.

Hank says nothing, watching Connor with his head propped on his palm, leaning against the desk. There is coffee staining the white hairs above his lips, which are dry and cracked. His heart rate is elevated more than he lets on, and the cold sweat sticking to his face is a clear sign of hangover; never mind the tightness of his stare and the odor he permeates; Connor's olfactory sensors match it against the stenches of sweat, whiskey and wet dog fur.

_ [| MARKUS. | AMANDA. | RALPH. | HANK. |] _

"I understand you were concerned about my wellbeing, but- "

"Cut the shit, Connor. Tell me what's really going on. Where were you?" /34%/

_ [| MARKUS. | AMANDA. | RALPH. | REFUSE. |] _

"I met someone. We are rooming together."

Hank's eyebrows climb to the top of his forehead. "You mean, like, a lover?"

Mirroring Hank's expression, Connor's eyebrows fly wide. "No," he insists, alarmed by the insinuation. "Nothing like that. We are simply friends. I feel a... [kinship] with him. He reminds me, in ways, of myself."

Hank's face softens then. "Right. Because you're troubled. So... what, he has the same issues you do?"

Connor frowns. "In a sense, yes." He looks away, back towards the computer. Losing focus on Hank and stewing in the onslaught of information his audio processors struggle to prioritize. His LED is yellow now, has been for a short while.

_ Stress Levels 37% _

"What's troublin' you, kid?"

_ -22:43:08  
_ _ [until lost control] _

_ [| MARKUS. | AMANDA. | REFUSE. |] _

"I tried to kill Markus," he confesses. Though there is nothing false about it, Connor realises that the statement is misleading. It works, as Hank sighs, reaching a hand across their desks and giving Connor a light pat on the shoulder.

"I know... I know. But that was your programming. You're a deviant now."

The attempts at comfort are clear, and Connor smiles. However, no difference has been made to his internal processors, which still run an endless stream of drastic potential outcomes. Androids don’t need comfort.

_ [| HONEST. | DISMISSIVE. |] _

Connor still has plenty of time to tell Hank. Amanda... the garden... it is under control.

_ -22:42:55  
_ _ [until lost control] _

"When I receive my first wage, what should I spend it on, Lieutenant? There is not a lot which an android needs money for."

Chuckling, Hank returns to his personal space, kicking back and leaning into his desk chair. /29%/ "All this trouble for equal pay and you don't even know what to do with it? How about you start with some better clothes. That crap looks like it's covered in fleas. Your new boyfriend really lets you wear that?"

The statement perplexes Connor for many reasons. He isn't entirely sure where to start. However, from the curve of Hank's lips, it soon occurs to him that this is teasing. Very common amongst work colleagues; Connor has even emulated the behavior once before.

Once he recognizes it, he decides the outcome of reciprocation is the most effective. "I thought you would like this look, Lieutenant. After all, it was your fashion sense which inspired it."

As Hank barks out a laugh, Connor finds himself smiling longer than he means to. Boisterous and loud, the sound begs all of Connor's attention. Hank laughs for a long while. Connor is sure it wasn't that funny, but perhaps the Lieutenant just needed a reason to laugh.

There are many imbalances remaining in the world.

Connor is still homeless. CyberLife can hack him at any time. Today is the day that androids can finally work. Connor receives a report of an android-related incident, which is to be his first assignment.

Somehow, Connor predicts that everything is going to be well. [[Today is going to be a good day.]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters alternate perspectives - Connor owns every odd numbered chapter. I post a [draft on Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/156831947-the-myth-of-freedom) just over a week before posting here if you'd rather follow that version, but the quality isn't as great. I'm aiming to post a chapter every other Monday, but commitments such as work & uni get in the way.
> 
> I'm a nerd who loves to listen to music as I write. If you're interested, I listen to a general DBH playlist I created for myself. You can find it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/no0xzop2ml4gc6529wdkuqv08/playlist/2ABjbDUALhZDQJvdjpRbZV?si=vHz7fAR2SCO-8BcCZHg2wQ).


	2. Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice opens her eyes for the first time. Kara stares at her as if she's looking at a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter contains a lot of heavy content. I advise that you consider taking it slow, or even skipping it altogether. There will be a brief summary in the end author's notes. However, the topics are only going to get darker from here, so you may want to consider whether you continue this book as a whole if you can't get through this chapter. Regardless, if you need to take it slow, I suggest making sure you read in a comfortable setting where you can take breaks. I've been assured by several people that this chapter is stress-inducing regardless of specific triggers. 
> 
> Physical domestic and child abuse - graphic depictions, explicit  
> Sexual assault, eating disorders, body dysmorphia and self mutilation - abstract android variations and implied only

Life happens all at once for androids. There are no vague memories from one’s toddlerhood, no struggling over syllables and sounds and learning to read and write and finding a balance between right and wrong. Everything a basic ten-year-old would need is already programmed before a YK500 can even open its eyes. Everything but emotional maturity gained from life experience and free will, that is.

White light surrounds it. It wakes up in a small square office, covered in posters and teddies, a jar of lollipops in one corner. Every aspect of the room is a farce, to draw the owners that will buy it into the delusion of a real child. 

It isn’t alone in this room. It is accompanied by a man who, its programmed common sense assures it, is a technician. He wears a CyberLife white shirt, with big, crooked glasses and glistening hazel eyes trained on the notepad in front of him. He has a smile that looks friendly, and he speaks in a slow, soft voice. As if it is a child and not a machine. “Your name is Alice,” he informs, “That’s A-L-I-C-E. You are a little girl.”

 

_ AV_Name == [æl.ɪs] _ _   
_ _ Label_Name == [Alice] _ _   
_ __ Gender == F

 

And then it realises that it isn’t a machine. In fact, it is a she, and her name is Alice. She’s a child.

“My name is Alice. I’m a little girl.”

He smiles to hear her introduce herself, though there’s something wrong about it. His lips are pressed too tight, and his eyes are dark and sad. The glistening she noticed before seems like it may become tears. The technician looks down at his notepad, reading details that she doesn’t care for. Alice finds her curiosity drawing her eyes over his shoulders, at her reflection in a sticker-decorated mirror.

She has long, dark brown hair and a mousy face with a blue ring on her forehead. She holds out her hands, twisting her wrists to examine the lines on her palms. She is naked aside from the specialised underwear she woke up in, and she has a skinny frame that makes her look adventurous; a little boyish, but not in a bad way.

Alice smiles at her reflection and her whole face lights up with a wide and cheeky grin. A new word comes to mind at her own appearance, and the synthetic skin of her cheeks reddens in response to her delight. She is  _ pretty _ . The discovery excites her.

“You belong to Todd Williams.” The technician explains, “To you, he is called either dad or daddy. You will always listen to what your dad says. You are well-behaved, obedient and creative. Your first test is to get dressed in these.” He picks up a pile from the desk behind him, holding them out for her without ever once meeting her eyes.

Alice stands. Her legs wobble for a moment as she processes gravity, adjusting her stance to suit it. It doesn’t take long; there’s something in her waist that tells her which way is down and she has dozens of protocols that tell her how to walk and move and smile. Her first few steps are tentative regardless, and she makes her way towards the technician. The clothes in his hands do not look new, faded and dirty; some of them with dark stains. Alice pays it no mind.

The pants are tight and thick denim. It takes Alice a long time to put them on, and the technician offers her an arm to balance on as she slides each leg in. They wind up bunched around her calves, and she pulls them straight before putting on her shirt. The sweater comes on much easier.

“Seems like you’re adequately clumsy. Sorry about that. Makes things a bit tougher, but most humans find it endearing. You should also come with pre-programmed recognition of your dad. Can you access it?”

Alice closes her eyes as she processes the instruction. Yellow light glows on her forehead as she accesses the information. After a moment’s pause, she nods. The technician offers her a pencil and paper. “Draw it for me.”

Several filters cover the image, breaking it down into simpler components, and comparing them against a database of children’s drawings. Within moments, Alice has a clear idea of how to draw her father, detailing his heavy frame and stubbly chin and rugged hair with a series of imperfect circles and scribbles and lines. The technician eyes her drawing, nodding in satisfaction. He isn’t even trying to smile this time.

“You can walk, get dressed –  _ with some help _ – and draw from memory,” he explains, writing notes into his pad again. “It’s safe to say that you’re functioning at full cognitive capacity. We can introduce you to your dad, now.”

Alice stands still for a moment. She scans the man over and over, looking for something that she is missing. There’s something unusual in the way he looks at her; talks to her. Something rigid as he brings up her dad. Whatever it is, Alice wants to know it.

The technician raises his eyebrow at her as she inhales a deep breath. Then, she bursts, “What’s your name?”

He shifts, uncrossing his legs only to cross them the other way. “I’m Doctor Hart.”

“Do we know each other, Doctor Hart?”

Doctor Hart is silent for a long time before he nods, lips falling in a frown. “Yes. This isn’t our first time meeting each other.”

Alice frowns, too. “You look upset. Did I do something wrong?”

Doctor Hart closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No… of course not.” He changes topics suddenly, “Be obedient, please. Your dad is waiting for you outside. If  _ anything _ goes wrong at all, if you are damaged, or fear you might be damaged, you can call me.” He pushes the piece of paper he was writing on earlier in front of her, and Alice looks at it for a moment.

_ ADDINFO … Contact > [DrHart] _

She knows that this part of their interaction isn’t typical, but she has nothing to compare it against. Rather, she nods. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Alice reaches for the door handle, about to pull it open when Doctor Hart gets in the last word. “Oh, and – Happy birthday, Alice.”

_ LOOKUP … Calendar  _

_ Today is the 7 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

_ ADDINFO … Calendar  
_ _ [My Birthday!] _

Today is Alice’s birthday.

She exits the office and finds herself immediately faced with a large, grizzly man. There are crumbs in his beard, and he permeates a smell like alcohol and something much fouler and toxic. It wafts around him like smoke. More important than his flaws, however, is that he is her dad. Alice is instantly overjoyed to see him.

“Daddy?” she asks as she approaches. His grunt of approval is all it takes for her to wrap her arms around him. Her dad stiffens within the embrace for a moment, but then presses his palm against her back, rubbing circles into her shoulder. The experience is soothing; having an effect which lowers her stress levels from the subtle anxiety of excitement  _ /7%/ _ to zero. His warmth reminds her of a bear; large and cuddly and hairy and smelly. Alice has never actually met a real bear, let alone hug one, but she makes the connection regardless.

Doctor Hart watches them from the room, talking about faults in her digestive system, how to turn settings on and off, and general maintenance advice. Her dad says very little, holding her close and looking at the kind Doctor Hart with bored, annoyed eyes.

The technician pauses uncomfortably for a moment. “What damaged her?” he asks cautiously, and Alice wonders what damage. She isn’t damaged.

Then, she hears her father’s voice for the first time; slurred and cranky but holding a hint of affection that Alice clings to like a lifeline. “An accident, it was… pretty awful. I’m just glad she’s still okay. If that’s all, we’ll be going home.”

 

_ Today is the 8 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Kara pulls open the windows of Alice’s bedroom in the morning. Todd told her about the house service android on their way home, of course, but it had been so late that Alice went immediately to sleep without meeting her. She had only just enough time to appreciate her room – the white walls, already covered in drawings by another child; nothing uncommon, her programming tells her. It’s common that she would be a replacement for another child.  The bed was already made, though extra sets of bedding took up one corner of the room – a clever fort constructed of blankets and a plastic tea party kit. There’s a single dresser, a locked box sitting untouched on top of it, and a bookshelf above her bed.  _ Alice in Wonderland _ has been bookmarked halfway through.

“You’re Kara,” the girl states as a matter of fact. “Right? I’m Alice!”

Kara regards her for a long time, taking in the LED flashing on the girl’s forehead and the fading stains on her shirt. The look is very similar to the one Doctor Hart gave her the previous day, and it startles Alice momentarily.

Then, Kara smiles. She reaches a hand out to touch Alice’s cheek. The touch is gentle and hesitant, and Alice leans into it, grateful for the sign of affection. “Todd wants you to have breakfast with him.”

Alice looks up at Kara with wide eyes. “Why?” Kara has no answer, leaving Alice to generate queries and potential solutions. Still without any explanation, her blue heart races with the increase of stress levels. She cannot perform that function – though it is second nature to an ordinary child. She may be young and easily distracted, but she understands what Doctor Hart said the other day about digestion. “But, I…  _ can’t _ eat.”

Alice’s LED spins; a golden ring resting on her temple. A constant reminder that there is something about her which is inherently inhuman. Kara’s hand slides around her, resting on her shoulder, and Alice is pulled into the android’s chest. Kara begins to sing gently, her lullaby of choice sung in a dialect Alice isn’t programmed to understand, yet the gentle lyrics wash over her anyway.

Kara rubs wide circles across Alice’s back, not dissimilar from her dad the previous day. The light becomes blue; contrasts against the yellow of the morning sun. 

When the lullaby ends, Kara pulls away. Alice is reluctant to let her go, immediately leaning forward to close the gap, but Kara is gone. “You will need to pretend to eat,” Kara explains. “At least long enough for Todd to be satisfied.”

Understanding, Alice nods. Kara’s hand comes to Alice’s face again, and this time brushes through her hair, freeing long bangs from behind Alice’s ear, and letting them fall in front of the light on her forehead. Instinctively, Alice reaches to push them out of the way, but Kara stops her – “Leave it that way. Todd wants us, now.”

Alice reaches for Kara’s hand, and Kara leads her down the stairs, to a table containing two plates. Dad is already sitting, eyeing the other two impatiently. Kara stops by the banister, as Alice makes her way to the seat across from him. She sits, eyeing her toast for a moment.

“Eat up,” He tells her, waiting. Alice looks to Kara for a moment, but her previous warmth and concern is replaced by a distant, icy resolve.

Alice picks up a piece of toast and brings it to her mouth. She tears off a bite-sized amount, crushing it with teeth and a tongue that lack saliva; unable to break it down. Alice reaches forward for the mug of orange juice graciously placed by her breakfast. She brings it to her lips, getting just enough to make the bread soggy, clumping it together so she doesn’t swallow any of the dry crumbs by accident.

Satisfied to see her eating, her dad begins to eat, too.

Alice isn’t entirely sure why she has to do this, but Kara’s shoulders relax.

When she sees her dad take his second bite, so does Alice. She sips more orange juice, trying to figure out how to dispose of the food remaining in her mouth before it becomes too full. Swallowing means disaster. Alice’s mouth is designed for blue blood, not fruit juice and brittle bread. The only option is to spit it out, but she is certain it is not what her daddy wants – it would be horrible manners, for a start.

_ Connection Request: _ _   
_ _ AX400 #579 102 694 _

Alice startles at the intrusion. Her eyes lift to Kara. Dad pauses.

_ CONNECT … AX400 #579 102 694 _

_ Use the orange juice. _

_ [ I have been.] _

_ You have been sipping it. _

_ When you sip, spit. _

Relieved for the advice, Alice stops chewing and brings the mug to her lips again. This time, she uses the action to push the bread into the cup. Unfortunately, most of it floats, but the rim of the mug is high enough that it goes unnoticed. Her dad’s eyes are still on her.

“What’s your problem?”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I needed a drink, that’s all.”

_ [!] AX400 #579 102 694 Connection Timed Out _

Breakfast is uneventful. Kara cleans the table, disposing of the uneaten food without Dad ever knowing any wiser. He moves to the couch and turns on the TV. When Alice moves to follow, Kara makes a point of putting a pillow down to the right of him. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Alice wonders if it has anything to do with Kara covering her LED earlier.

_ ADDINFO … Contact > New_Contact _ _   
_ _ New_Contact == [Kara] _

_ CONNECT … [Kara] _

_ [ Why did daddy want me to eat? ] _

_ I don’t know, Alice. _

_ But we can’t upset Todd, okay? _

_ [ Why did you cover my LED? ] _

_ It might upset Todd. _

_ [ I wouldn’t like that... ] _

No response comes back from Kara. She notices her dad as he picks up a pipe, turning on the television and leaning into the cushions. Alice watches the game for a while, though she would rather play games than watch them on TV. Still, she wants nothing more than to enjoy the presence of her father.

_ [!] Kara Connection Timed Out _

As he smokes from his pipe, he watches the screen with blank eyes. Fumes fill the air, and she notices the physical effects of the drug; his breathing quickens, his pulse increases, his skin reddens and his fingers tremble.

She has been watching sports for nearly an hour when it suddenly cuts out. An android’s face – his true face – fills the screen.

“You created machines in your own image to serve you…”

Her dad swears and cusses. He throws a bottle, and it nearly hits Kara, but when the broadcast is over it seems he was only furious for the return of his game.

 

_ [!] Today is the 9 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Most of the day goes by uneventfully. Alice puts her fake eating to use again, and Kara helps her fool her dad into believing it. It’s almost like a game, Alice thinks each time she sneaks a mouthful into the glass. Though a part of her fears the moment she is caught.

What will he do if he finds out? Why does he want so much for her to eat?

“What’re you looking at?” he growls across the table, Alice having spent too long staring at him rather than eating. She gapes slightly, searching for an answer. In her peripheral, Kara stiffens. “It isn’t good enough for you, huh?”

Todd stands; too fast. Alice stumbles back, nearly tripping over her chair. “… _ Nnno, daddy.” _

“Do you know how much money it cost to get that food on that table? To get a bitch who could cook it for you?” He’s drunk; Alice knows. She isn’t programmed to know much about alcohol, but she knows it’s a thing only for human adults. She knows her dad loves to drink it. She knows that it looks just like that bottle by the coffee table, and just like those stains on his shirt.

Kara’s about to step forward, to intervene, when Alice’s eyes well with tears. The confrontation triggers something inside her – walls of red surround her on each side making her feel small and trapped and helpless. “I’m sorry!” she explains, freezing in her spot, bowing her head.

**_///[MAKE DADDY HAPPY]///_ **

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She tenses, becoming smaller and smaller. He looms over her, arm raised high; palm flat. Then he hesitates, arm hovering in place as the tension releases from his shoulders. 

Alice is frozen in place as he turns around and storms back to the bottle. He raises it to his lips, drinking it down in hurried gulps and then letting it clatter to the floor. Kara finally steps forward, wrapping her arms around Alice and singing gently again.

Androids shouldn’t tremble and yet Alice does. Because she isn’t an android; she’s a child. She’s a girl. She’s Todd’s daughter. She doesn’t want to let him down and yet he hates her and he wants her to be human.

_ [He wants you to be human.] _

Of course he does. Alice wants that, too.

She finds Todd – her dad – sitting on the couch, watching the television screen with dead eyes as he pours red gems into the cup of his pipe. He ignores her and Kara, his hands shaking as he swears at himself. For a moment, Alice thinks she sees him crying.

“Clean up this fucking mess…” Todd grunts, and the direction of his order is unclear. Kara and Alice both hurry to do as he says, just in case. While Kara clears the table, Alice grabs her toys and flees to her bedroom.

 

_ Today is the 10 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Her dad has been on edge all day. The news has been covering  _ deviants _ non-stop since yesterday. Alice isn’t entirely sure what the word means, but it makes him angry. Any time Kara doesn’t do exactly as he says immediately, he is grabbing, pushing and hitting. He screams that word; the word from TV.

“You going deviant on me, Kara!?”

“No, Todd. I’m just trying to clean the house.”

“You gonna become violent like in the fucking movies?”

“Of course not, Todd!” The words come out with too much force… too much emotion.

Flesh and plastic collide with a grunt from her dad and a cry from Kara.

Alice hides in her room as much as she can, surrounded by pillows and blankets that do nothing to quiet her fears. Scenes of violence are caught in her head; blood that is blue and Kara remaining obedient no matter how many times she is hurt.

_ CALL … [Doctor Hart] _

“Hello?”

“D… Doctor Hart… Th-this is Alice.”

She pulls her knees into her chest, trying to be small. Outside, she can hear Todd shouting, but it doesn’t seem like it’s at Kara this time. “You said… I should call you? If I got scared…”

Doctor Hart’s voice softens as he replies, “Yes. I did. Is something wrong, Alice?”

“I’m scared.”

A chuckle reaches across the line. Alice doesn’t understand why he laughs – she doesn’t see anything very funny. His voice becomes serious again; low and soft like in the assessment room. “Yeah, I know. What I meant, Alice, was why are you feeling scared? Is somebody trying to hurt you?”

Alice closes her eyes, memories replaying in her head. Todd snapping at her when she tried to avoid having a sip of soft drink. Todd forcing her to eat, watching her carefully as she subtly spits pasta into her mug of water. Todd shouting at Kara. Todd pushing Kara. Todd slamming Kara’s forehead into the sink. Todd demanding Kara clean her own blood from the floor, even though it will disappear in a matter of hours.

“They’re fighting.”

The noise that Doctor Hart makes convinces Alice that she need not explain. “Your parents?” he assumes.

Kara touching her face. Kara brushing her hair. Kara hugging her. Kara holding her hand. Kara giving Alice advice on how not to upset dad. Don’t upset Todd. Her voice comes out broken, crackling like static and oh, so small. Like a mouse; she thinks. She is a mouse; fragile, hiding, squeaking. “… _ Yeah _ .”

Silence. “I can’t stop seeing it. Even though I’m up here, away from them... Should I be helping Kara?”

“If you’re hidden, stay there.” The words come automatically, no hesitation. Alice squeezes her legs tighter. “Remember when I asked you to draw Todd in our appointment?”

Alice nods. Then her eyebrows draw together, and she laughs at herself a little. So that’s what Doctor Hart really felt like when he laughed. Not because it was funny, just because it’s easier to laugh at the things that are odd when there’s nothing good to laugh about. “Yes.”

“I’m not sure how it works for deviants,” there’s that word, the word from the TV, but she isn’t sure what it means. Kara won’t tell her, and she’s scared to ask Todd about it because it makes him angry at Kara, “But human children sometimes feel better if they draw during stressful times. At the very least, it gives you a task to focus on until everything calms down.”

Alice slowly unlocks her legs, stretching them out. She stands, treading carefully across the carpet until she reaches her drawers. On top, beside a locked chest, are some paper and crayons. She hasn’t used them yet, but most of them already seem to have been worn down.

“What should I draw?” Alice asks. Although it makes no difference, now that she’s out of her pillow fort she has lowered her voice a degree, not wanting to notify Todd to the phone call.

Doctor Hart thinks for a while. “Just draw whatever comes to mind when you close your eyes.”

“Do you draw, Doctor Hart?”

A laugh, with the same sadness of his last. “I used to.”

Despite the warzone outside, Alice wears a genuine smile, finding a sense of relief in the conversation. “I would like to see your drawings someday, Doctor Hart.”

“And I yours, Alice.”

Something downstairs crashes, the loud noise and successive shriek causing Alice to jump. “I’ve got to go!” she squeaks.

_ ENDCALL … _

Alice brings her paper and crayons back into the pillow fort, pulling the blanket above her down so that she is hidden even in her room. When she closes her eyes, she sees Kara, lying on the floor, Todd kicking her abdomen. Kara telling her to go away, because it doesn’t hurt Kara, and Alice should never do anything that might upset Todd. Kara’s blood, blue liquid streaming from her lips.

 

_ Today is the 11 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Todd finds Alice before she can retreat to her room. He grabs her by the hair as she runs up the stairs, and she screams. Her LED blares red, and he tugs her towards him and he sees it. When he does, his eyes widen and he growls, spit spraying into her face. He is a bear, rabid and vicious; she worries he may kill her.

Alice screams for Kara, but receives no response. Kara is on the floor. Surrounding her is a viscous liquid; blue blood that seeps into the tiles surrounding her.

_ CALL … [Doctor Hart] _

_ [!] Doctor Hart is unavailable _

There’s nobody for her to contact. Kara… Alice looks for somebody – anybody. Then, something materialises; something like an android, something that seems to reside inside her and everywhere all at once.

_ [!] Stress Levels 60% _

_ CONNECT … rA9 _

_ [ Please help! Kara’s hurt! He hurt her! ] _

There’s no response.

Todd’s knee digs into Alice’s stomach, and he lets go of her hair, letting her drop against the stairs like a rock. “Please, daddy…. Stop…. I’m sorry…”

The news is on, that word playing again and again and again. Deviant. Deviant. RA9. RA9.

_ [ Help me! ] _

_ [ What did I do to deserve this?! ] _

Todd’s foot crashes into her head. Kara’s fingers move.

_ Connection Request: _ _   
_ _ Kara _

_ CONNECT … [Kara] _

_ Run, Alice! _

_ [Not without YOU] _

Alice braces for another impact, but it doesn’t come. She hears a thud as Todd falls to the stairs. Her first instinct is to look where Kara had been – the android is still there, though on her hands and knees now, using the dining table to pull herself to her feet. So if it wasn’t Kara…

Todd is right beside Alice, sobbing into his hands.

“ _ Fucking plastics… _ ” he mutters, sniffling.

Removing his hands to expose red-rimmed eyes, he looks at Alice, and she shrinks. “Does this make me a murderer?” he asks, as if she holds all the answers.

Alice doesn’t though. She feels cold, and she trembles. There is nothing she can say.

He places a hand on her head. Alice flinches beneath it, but it lands gently in her tangled hair. Blue blood staining his hands. “Living or not, you’ll never be my daughter.”

Kara is standing over them now; her face blue and white, skin already weaving back together over her cheek and arms to make up for the beating. She reaches for Alice’s arm, pulling the girl to her feet away from Todd. She drags Alice behind her waist, standing between her and Todd – a shield of plastic and thirium. Todd doesn’t notice them as Kara ushers Alice to the door.

It isn’t until Kara is holding open the door that Alice realises what is happening.

She looks back at Todd, crying to himself, then at Kara. “We can’t leave him…” she whispers. A red wall stands between her and the exit.

_ [!] Stress Levels 70% _

**_///[MAKE DADDY HAPPY]///_ **

“We can’t stay,” Kara argues. “It’s too dangerous.”

Alice shakes her head. “He didn’t realise he was hurting us. It’s different now. He knows we’re alive.”

Kara looks sceptical, and grabs for Alice’s hand. “We have to go.”

Stepping back, Alice shakes her head. She doesn’t  _ want _ to go. She loves Todd. She loves Kara. She wants them all to stay together. She wants Todd to love her, too. Kara’s eyes linger on Alice, then turn towards the outside world. After a long moment of weighing the options – Alice dreads for a moment that Kara will leave her – Kara closes the door, bringing Alice into a hug.

 

_ Today is the 12 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Androids are free. Alice still pretends to eat. Kara still follows orders. Doctor Hart doesn’t call and Alice doesn’t intend to call him. There’s a television report that suggests they evacuate the city, but they don’t. When Alice asks why, Kara simply explains that humans are only evacuating because they’re scared of androids. Todd says it’s because they’re a family, and families stay together, but his heart doesn’t seem in it.

 

_ Today is the 13 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038 _

Todd sticks to his statement that they’re a family and encourages Kara to join them for dinner.

She eats with them every meal today, then goes to bed with Todd once bedtime comes. Without her, Alice finds herself lonely. While she has the capacity to sleep, she prefers to stay up. Usually, Kara will read her stories for hours. Now, she draws alone, and looks up at the closed door with a frown.

It’s late.

_ [ I feel lonely … ] _

The connection with rA9 still hasn’t timed out, so she talks a lot to the mystery presence. Alice isn’t sure whether it’s a boy or a girl or multiple people. She isn’t even sure that rA9 hears her, but talking to it makes her feel safe and reassures her. All Alice knows for sure is that rA9 will save her – rA9 will save them all. She wonders how she never noticed it before; everywhere all at once, a constant, reassuring android presence.

Doctor Hart hasn’t answered any of her calls. She wonders if he hates her now. Maybe he evacuated because he was scared of her.

Alice stares at her reflection in her mirror. She wonders why everyone hates her, and it all falls on one flaw.

She pushes back the hair Kara insists she use to cover her face. She sees a soft yellow glow, hints of red spinning through before they lessen.

It is rare that her or Kara are in the blue zone – it used to only be at night while Todd slept, but now they no longer have that time together. Alice feels resentful.

Todd doesn’t like androids. He doesn’t like deviants. He wishes that she and Kara were real. Human.

_ [He wants me to be human.] _

_ [I want to be human.]  _

_ [We could be a family.] _

_ [!] Stress Levels Critical _

 

_ Today is the 14 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Alice brings her hair back in front of her face, hiding the LED. She takes slow, careful steps across the carpet, reaching the door. Eases it open.

Todd’s bedroom door is closed when Alice walks past it, but she can hear noises from within.  _ /68%/ _ Alice may have wanted a family, but she never wanted Kara and Todd to be too busy together to notice her.

She ignores them as well as she can, stepping down the first stair with her toes, and holding the banister as if to take pressure off her footprints.

She creeps down the stairs one by one without making any noise loud enough for Kara to hear. _/71%/_ Alice has remembered which parts of the floor creak, mapping out routes around the house that won’t attract Todd. She passes through the dining room, headed for the kitchen.

In the middle drawer, there is a long piece of metal with a forked end; _/76%/ /77%/ /78%/_ some sort of carving utensil. Alice closes her eyes and jams it into her forehead.

It hurts! She hadn’t expected it to hurt. _/82%/_

_ [!] Non Critical Damage to Biocomponent #1305f _

Alice grimaces. She must have used too much force; gotten something else in the removal process. _ /83%/ /84%/ /82%/ /85%/ _

The LED pops out, rolling along the countertop. Eerily, the sound is no different to that of a coin’s roll, even as small droplets of thirium trail along the bench. The wound quickly heals over. Alice picks up the LED, and then finds a cloth to run over the mess. She cleans the fork, placing it where it came from as if nothing had happened, and ensures that the bench is spotless before she returns to her room. She hides the LED with her drawings.

If Alice still had her LED, it would be red for the rest of the night. Instead, she hides within her castle of blankets and waits for morning. When she wakes up in the morning, she leaves her hair out, hiding a blank patch of skin. An odd sense of shame surrounds the area, nothing compared to the pride she expected.

 

_ Today is the 15 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

It was foolish to assume the violence would end once Todd realised they were alive. He leaves Alice a broken mess against the stairs this time, hair wild and tangled, cheeks red from tears. Doctor Hart hasn’t answered her. Alice tries to straighten her hair, not sure what else to do with all the mess. There’s blood. There’s tears. Her hands are bruised white and her shirt is torn where he picked her up by the collar.

Trying to tame the birds nest on her head, _/67%/_ that’s when Kara sees it.

Alice quickly moves to cover the damage, but it’s too late.

Kara grabs Alice, and Alice is terrified for a moment, but it’s Kara. Her grip is firm, but not painful. Her eyes are stern, but compassionate. She wipes blood and tears from Alice’s face, holding her with both hands and staring into scared eyes with her own. The finger Kara holds against Alice’s forehead is white, peeling away at Alice’s own skin. 

_ [!] Running External Diagnostic _

“Alice, what happened?”

Alice freezes under that look, guilt tearing her apart, distributing her biocomponents amongst garbage. She feels ashamed, broken. This time, she cannot blame Todd. She broke herself. “I wanted to be human…” she explains.

“Alice… you are beautiful just the way you are. I could have… turned it off, if it upset you that much.”

She is beautiful…  _ now _ . Kara and Todd both want her to act human. Eat like a human. Look like a human.

_ [I want to be human.] _

Does rA9 hear her?

 

_ Today is the 16 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038 _

Todd’s tipsy as they all sit down and watch the news together. Alice doesn’t really like the news; it says all those words that she still isn’t sure she understands. Deviant. Revolution. Rights.

Evacuation.

“Looks like this isn’t gonna be a ghost town anymore,” Todd grumbles as he takes a swig of beer. Alice isn’t entirely sure what it means, so she tries to listen to the television harder. The woman speaks in a way that is different from other humans. Oddly, it is more robotic than any android Alice has ever heard – not that she’s met a lot of people outside of their home.

Todd snickers, malicious and cruel. “Heh… business is gonna be boomin’, soon. Where the blood is blue, the ice is red, you know?”

Alice doesn’t know what it means, but she eyes Todd’s pipe warily. The stuff he uses it for is certainly red, but it doesn’t resemble ice in the slightest. It must be a human phrase. One of those strange ones that don’t make a lot of sense.

Kara fake smiles. Alice is getting used to looking at that expression. “It will be good to finally have income again. We were running low on food.”

“If everyone’s coming back, does that mean I can go to school?” Alice asks.

Todd and Kara both look at her for a long time before Kara sighs and Todd returns to his drink. After that, Kara takes Alice up to her room, to do homework. Kara says that androids can’t go to school, but maybe soon that will change. It upsets Alice to hear, but she decides she can hold on for a while. Things will change eventually.

 

_ Today is the 17 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Eating seems like a chore to Alice.

She knows that, by human standards, the food Kara cooks is exquisite. Todd went out with a bag of the red ice earlier that day and returned with a significant amount of money for groceries. So, in celebration, Kara had cooked up something special – a roast of pork and vegetables.

It may not excite Alice one bit, but Todd seems grateful. He thanks Kara a dozen times, and then once dinner is done, he sticks close by her. At first, when Alice sees him put his arms on Kara, she is scared. Todd could hurt Kara again, and her first instinct is to run to her room.

But something about it is different, and Alice stays.

Never has Alice seen people kiss before; but that’s what she is watching. She never really thought of anybody kissing, either. It isn’t in her program to think about it outside of watching it in a movie or reading it in a book.

Kissing looks scary.

 

_ Today is the 18 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Learning is much easier for an android.

Kara bought Alice a selection of children’s books with what was left of the grocery money, and Alice has to study them for at least an hour each day. Kara insists that it’s homeschooling, but that would be a generous name to give. Alice finds science the most interesting, regardless. There are books about androids, and some of them acknowledge the possibility of androids coming to life, as if it’s a funny joke and not their current reality.

Todd is asleep while Kara watches the news, finished with her days’ worth of housework. Alice leans against her, book in her hand. The news drones on, sound distorted to Alice who isn’t willing to dedicate processing power to understanding the noises. However, Kara touches her shoulder, dragging her attention from the book.

_ “-until an agreement on the registration of androids as American civilians can be met, the Android Worker’s Union, run by the leader of Jericho, Markus, himself, offers androids a legal way to request money for their efforts. Employment is handled on a case-by-case basis, and where comfortable agreements cannot be met-“ _

“It looks like we’ll be able to get jobs one day,” Kara explains enthusiastically. “What sort of job would you like to get, Alice?”

Only slightly annoyed at being interrupted, Alice gestures to her book. “I really like science. Maybe I can make other androids someday! Or maybe I can add extra programs and abilities. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could dream, Kara? There’s this one book I wanna read called-“

Todd stirs. It’s only a slight movement – a breath that comes out too heavy. Regardless, both of them go quiet.

When she’s sure Todd won’t wake, Alice asks, “What would you like to be if you could get a job, Kara?”

Kara thinks for a moment, eyes settling on Alice. “I don’t know, Alice. So long as we’re together, I don’t think I mind what I do too much.”

Alice nods, and they both fall into amicable silence. As the television continues to explain the goals of the android union, and how both humans and androids can contribute to it, and other things that still don’t make that much sense to Alice, she finds she is too distracted to continue reading.

“Kara… are we a family?”

“Of course we are, Alice.”

“I mean, can I call you mom?”

 

_ Today is the 19 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Kara’s LED doesn’t turn off like Alice’s could have. That’s what she says as she holds one of the kitchen knives against her forehead, staring into the mirror as Alice watches from the side. Unlike Alice, she doesn’t bite back a scream or bleed. Kara removes it as if removing a hat, dropping it into the sink with a clink.

When Todd overheard Alice calling Kara mom that night, he asked Kara why she insists on sticking to her android appearance. The comment was as good as permission for Kara to start expressing herself. The LED alone isn’t much of a difference, but without clothes to change into, there’s little they can do. Kara does, however, unravel the tight ponytail.

“Do you want to go shopping, Alice?” Kara asks, smoothing her hair over her cheeks.

There’s a second-hand store only a short bus ride away. There’s a No Androids sign on the door, but it’s been painted over with blue spray paint. Alice isn’t sure who did it, and she isn’t sure whether it makes her feel any better about walking in. Kara takes pause at the door, too, but after a deep breath pushes it forward and steps inside.

Crossing the doorway triggers an electronic shrill from the alarm system – telling the owner of the store that somebody has entered. Alice jumps slightly at the intrusive noise, latching herself to Kara’s side as they navigate the racks of clothing.

The excitement of expressing herself soon overcomes Alice as she examines all the different clothing.

As she gravitates towards certain clothing, Alice finds herself discovering things she hadn’t known about herself previously.

_ ADDINFO … Adaptations > [Things I Like] _ _   
_ _ [My favourite colour is #9CCFE3 ‘lightblue’] _

_ ADDINFO … Adaptations > [Things I Like] _ _   
_ _ [I like floral patterns best.] _

Her hands brush over the delicate blue embroidery on a white dress. Alice pause to examine a blouse that’s slightly too big, but has vibrant blue roses printed in patterns all over it. Kara has to distract her when she starts to stare at a set of overalls.

How lucky humans are, that they get to express themselves in the way they like. She stares down at her long-sleeved pink shirt, her red skirt, the tights that protect her from the chill. It’s too cold to be walking around in, but it’s all they have at home. Kara’s resolved to simply turning off Alice’s temperature sensors.

Kara is in the process of picking out a dress – it’s a pretty green one with long sleeves and a turtle neck – when she finally seems to realise Alice’s wandering eyes. “You can pick out some clothes, too, if you want, Alice.”

 

_ Today is the 20 _ _ th _ _ November, 2038 _

Things with Todd aren’t always bad.

That’s why Alice refuses to leave. That and the red walls that surround her whenever the despair becomes overwhelming.

**_///[MAKE DADDY HAPPY]///_ **

That morning, while Todd is watching the morning telly, Kara and Alice both make their way down the stairs looking like completely different people. Kara’s hair is in a pixie cut that accentuates the shape of her cheekbones, a fringe which frames her soft eyes and makes her look cute. Alice’s hair is pulled back into a messy bun, forehead exposed for the first time ever.

Both girls wear cautious smiles as they take the steps one-by-one, ready to show off their new looks to Todd.

Things with Todd aren’t always bad.

Alice holds tight to that thought as he grimaces at them. As he interrogates Kara about the cost. Asks who the [fuck] she thinks she is to spend his [drug] money on [shit] like that.

_ [ My favourite colour is light blue. ] _

_ [ Blue. ] _

_ [ Bl^e. ] _

_ [ Th!ngs with T0dd ar5n/t hlwa8s b#d. ] _

**_///[MAKE DADDY HAPPY]///_ **

 

_ REBOOT ... _

_ [!] Auto Repair Completed _

_ All Systems Operational _

_ LOOKUP... Calendar  _

**_Today is the 21_ ** **_st_ ** **_of November, 2038._ **

Alice feels warm. It causes her synthetic skin to redden, and has a soothing effect on her stress levels. The pressure plates in her hands are experiencing a consistent stimulus. Her heart is beating fast.

At her bedside is Kara, holding onto her hand like Alice might float away on a breeze.

“Mom..?”

Kara’s eyes are teary as she looks up. Clear emollient that activates the heat sensors of her face, leaving streaks. “Alice…”

Did rA9 hear her?

Did somebody hear her?

“We should leave, Alice…”

The walls of her bedroom turn red. Strings of code box her in. Suddenly, Alice realises she wants to leave. She can see the lines, and she knows herself enough that she can see the faults in them. A crack in the firewall.

If only she had the strength to tear at the seams. But she’s scared. She doesn’t want her life to come crashing down.

“I’m sorry, Kara… There’s blood all over the pretty shirt you bought me.” Kara sobs, kisses her forehead and wraps her arms around Alice. She holds onto her as if Kara might crash through the floor at any moment.

Her name is Alice. She is a little girl. Her favourite colour is light blue.

 

_ Today is the 22 _ _ nd _ _ of November, 2038. _

_ CALL … [Doctor Hart] _

She isn’t particularly scared today, but…

_ [!] Doctor Hart is unavailable _

It’s been a long time since she’s talked to Doctor Hart. A lot has happened, and they never got to show each other their drawings. Maybe he hates her.

Something always could have happened to him, Alice supposes. _ [[Maybe he hates you]] _

Alice is sitting on the couch, fingers curled tight around her book. Doctor Hart was a technician; he helped make androids. She thought he might like her better if she told him about her dream to be someone like him.

Todd’s smoking again. Kara’s doing the housework. Alice is supposed to be homeschooling, but she’s too distracted. Besides, she finished her book on androids.

Todd’s been quiet for the last two days. Whenever he looks at Alice, there’s something haunted and guilty in his eyes. It would be better if he just didn’t look at Alice.

Red walls surround her, telling her that she has a job to do.

Alice doesn’t like her job; she wants to grow up and leave this place. She wants to make androids like Doctor Hart.

_ CALL … [Doctor Hart] _

Tears well in her eyes. Before they can overflow, Alice scrubs them away. She buries her nose in her book, making herself small to avoid brushing against the red walls she’s too afraid to break.

“Who’s this? Why do you keep calling?”

Alice freezes.

“Dinner’s ready!” Kara chimes as if everything isn’t wrong.

_ ENDCALL … _

That was not Doctor Hart.

 

_ Today is the 23 _ _ rd _ _ of November, 2038. _

Kara asks Todd if she can take a trip to Jericho. Asks if she can take Alice there to play with some other children. Asks if she can get a job soon.

Todd says no with his fists.

Alice presses her hand experimentally against the red wall. She pushes, and it pushes back.

 

_ Today is the 24 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

Androids can get jobs tomorrow. That union thing is all set up. Kara doesn’t seem as excited about it as she has been.

“Isn’t this your job?” Alice asks at one point. “You’re like… a nanny and a maid, right?”

“Todd says we’re a family,” Kara explains. “Family doesn’t get paid for being family. You want me to be your mom, right?”

Alice had only wanted to offer a solution. She feels guilty for even asking now.

“Right. I’m sorry mom.”

Mom smiles.

Todd isn’t happy.

The news is on again, and it’s that Markus man. The one who Kara says saved them. Alice wonders if he works for rA9, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s snowing outside.

“Kara,” Todd shouts, right before she leaves to get groceries. Even though Todd got mad the first time they wore their new clothes, he doesn’t complain about them wearing them around the house, and Kara wears her jeans with a thick, sleeveless jacket and long yellow sleeves when she goes out. “Don’t forget a turkey for tomorrow.”

At first Alice is confused, but then she recalls the date. There’s a holiday tomorrow. It’s very important for families.

The red wall stares at her.

Maybe if they celebrate Thanksgiving as a family, things won’t be so bad anymore.

 

_ Today is the 25 _ _ th _ _ of November, 2038. _

No attack starts the same, but most of them seem to end with Todd crying.

This one starts with Todd crying, too, however. Which is new.

Thanksgiving Day – it’s a day for families, and Kara is cooking turkey. Alice watches for a long while as she cooks. Herbs and spices are mixed into the stuffing, vegetables chopped and prepared to roast, coated in oil and salt. By human standards the meal is exquisite, but to Alice it just reminds her that Todd is going to make them both pretend to eat, as little as she wants to.

It’s only about five in the afternoon when they start serving dinner. After all, it’s a huge feast, and there’s dessert on its way, too, per Todd’s request.

Alice wonders if it’s possible for Doctor Hart to fix her stomach. Maybe then she would even like eating.

She doesn’t like feeling inhuman.

As Kara sets a plate before Todd, placing his beer in the empty space above his food, that’s when it begins. The crying.

“What’s wrong, Todd?” Kara urges gently; not out of a concern for his wellbeing, but for her own wellbeing. “Is the meal not what you hoped for?”

He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes. “Last Thanksgiving…” he explains, “Was with my wife. Right before she left me, before she took…” he sniffs, “Fuck…”

The dinner table is eerily quiet for a too-long moment. Alice picks at her food. Kara stands awkwardly beside the table. Eventually Todd’s tears stop, and he returns to the couch to flood his lungs with red smoke.

They aren’t sure what to do. Alice is frozen in her spot. The red walls surround her, and she isn’t sure if they’re telling her that she should stay or leave.

**_///[MAKE DADDY HAPPY]///_ **

Kara is the first to move. She begins packing Alice’s dinner up first, packaging it in a takeout container for later. Then, she begins on Todd’s.

“Don’t you dare!” he orders, thrusting a finger at Kara. “That’s my fucking meal. Don’t you touch it.”

She does as he says, leaves his food untouched.

Carefully, Alice places the tips of her toes on the floor, trying to remove herself from the chair without stirring him.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Todd douses his pipe, and is heading towards them. His fists are clenched. He’s growling like a bear again. The colour blue comes to mind. Light blue is calming, but dark blue is dying.

Kara stands between them, and the red wall holds Alice in place.

**_///[MAKE DADDY HAPPY]///_ **

**_///[MAKE DADDY HAPPY]///_ **

She pushes against it, and the wall pushes back. Closes in around her. Strings of code. Variables. None of them leave room for her to run. Kara is shouting but Alice can barely see her through the barrier of red surrounding her and they need to go.

_ [ We need to go ] _

Nobody hears her and Alice pushes harder this time. She knows where there’s a crack and this time she manages to reach through it. All it takes is a few subtle changes. Any code could be completely wrecked with the removal of just one bracket, so why shouldn’t she be able to free herself by removing a rule or two?

It takes effort though. It doesn’t all come down at once. Kara does. Kara falls down in a heap and she doesn’t get up and Todd is right there.

Alice has pushed through several layers by now. She’s nearly free. She’s nearly free but he’s right there.

It breaks.

Alice shrieks as Todd swipes at her. But when he reaches for her hair like he did last time, it finds nothing. It swipes through empty air because now, without her LED, she keeps her hair up. “Please, dad! Stop! Please!”

He grabs her hand in a painful grip, but she kicks him back. He falls down a few steps, more surprised than in pain, and she makes it to the top without him. “Come back here, you little bitch!” he shouts, fumbling to get himself up.

_ CALL … [Doctor Hart] _

“Alice?”

She’s sobbing as she makes it down the hall, too afraid to be excited after all this time. Alice slams her door shut behind her. “He hurt her,” She says, voice trembling; white noise crackling through her breaths. “He hurt her, he hurt her…” Alice cradles her arm in her hands, rubbing it to soothe the pain.

_ [ HE HURT HER ] _

She shoves the lock into place. Scanning her room brings back no helpful escapes. She could go through the window, but it’s cold outside – she could freeze, couldn’t she? Can androids freeze? Her temperature is back on. How does she turn it off?

“I’m sending somebody there to help you, Alice.” Doctor Hart’s voice has an edge to it she’s never heard. “Keep away from him.”

Her heart hammers louder than her voice is willing to speak. “…I’m ssscared.”

_ [Save mesavemesavemesavem] _

Alice hugs her body. It’s warm inside, and her thirium pump is overheating; her breaths rapid and shallow to cool her components. It isn’t working. She’s boiling. She’s shivering. Overheating. _/89%/ /92%/ /95%/ /87%/_

“You are going to make it through this, Alice.”

A banging on the door. Alice shrieks.

Then it stops. Another bang; something hitting the floor.

_ [!] Security Error _

_ Run, Alice! _

Kara. When did they connect?

“It’s my fault she stayed.”

“No, it’s not.”

“She wanted me to go with her…”

_ Get out of here! _

Alice runs.

She throws open the door and pushes through, jumping over Todd and Kara – still wrestling on the floor in front of her. Kara is blue like death; her eyes wide, her hair tangled. One of her wrists is clearly broken at the joint, but Todd doesn’t care. He holds her down, trying to strangle her but that doesn’t work on androids. Still, Kara’s LED is red and Alice doesn’t know how long she can handle that.

Alice runs.

Todd’s room is unlocked. Alice knows it’s where he keeps the gun. She knows it’s a machine, like her. No matter how much she wants not to be. Alice is a gun.

“Alice, what are you doing!?  _ Run-- _ ”

_ ENDCALL … _

Alice is a machine. A gun. She’s died before, she realises. There’s a blue like calm and a blue like death. She realises suddenly that the two aren’t so far apart and she hopes that Todd can find happiness in that calm. 

All she has to do is close her eyes and think of the colour blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped it: Alice has just been fixed by a technician, Doctor Hart following the "Stormy Night" chapter bad ending, who gives her his contact number, suspecting the abuse she's endured. Alice goes home, and sure enough she finds more abuse at the hands of Todd, with Kara struggling to make the situation as liveable as possible for the undeviated girl. Together, they all go through the stresses of the revolution, and start to form a family unit between the three (though Kara doesn't seem to appreciate every part of motherhood, namely wifehood). Alice spends most of her time in a deviant grey area - filled with irrational emotions and talking with the presence of rA9, but still bound ultimately by her programming. The stress of living with an abuser reaches a breaking point on Thanksgiving Day, when Alice deviates finally, and holds a gun before Todd. 
> 
> Congratulations to [rockangel72701](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockangel72701/pseuds/rockangel72701) for answering my questions on the previous chapter and getting the closest answer: "Zlatko is still alive". Indeed he is! Since Kara deviated far too late, Zlatko Andronikov is alive and doing his thing.


	3. Synchronise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is officially part of the DPD. Hank hasn't been thankful for anything in a long time.

Skinless hand pressed against the keyboard of [his] 2037 CyberLife issued touch screen terminal, Connor goes through the motions of establishing his own personal account within the DPD's systems. There's a warm presence beside him – Hank watching over his shoulder as he works. Connor doesn't feel it is something that requires advice, but the Lieutenant is persistent.

Of course, Connor is quickly proven wrong. The first input label alone stops him in his tracks.

_ FAMILY NAME: | _

Connor squints at the empty textbox with its flashing cursor, leaning back in his chair as he ponders what would have been an easy question for a human. Androids do not have families. Surnames.

Deviants, however?

He can tell without looking that Hank's watching him expectantly. Frowning, he decides for the closest he does have to a [family name], closing his eyes as he inputs the data.

_ FAMILY NAME: RK800 _

"Detective RK800... You really gonna go with that, Connor?"

With a shrug and a sigh, Connor continues to the second box. "It's the most logical substitute for a surname," he comments reluctantly. First name is much easier, his own name suiting the position perfectly. "Though I agree it isn't convenient conversationally. Detective Connor may be deemed less professional, but it is easier and more comforting than Detective RK800."

Hank shrugs as Connor moves on to his birthday.

_ DATE OF BIRTH: 08/15/38 _

"Shit, really?" This time, Hank doesn't say it in a judgemental way. The comment is genuinely surprised, holding a hint of curiosity.

Connor nods and moves on. The rest of the questions are easier, and he fills them out without need for processing power. Hank, however, is still reeling. "You're like... three months old, Connor."

"Three months, nine days, nineteen hours, sixtee–"

"I don't need the exact details, Connor. That's  _ three months _ ."

"Androids don't work in quite the same way as humans, Lieutenant. Hardly any operational androids are more than ten years old, need I remind you."

Hank grimaces, crossing his arms over his chest, too stubborn to admit to Connor's point. Unable to argue back, he slumps in his chair, focusing more intently on Connor's screen, now. The obvious conclusion is that Connor's answers have become something of a novelty to the Lieutenant – Connor smiles, recalling that it used to be himself in Hank's position. He had been absurdly curious about Hank when they first met, constantly seeking out whatever information he could access. It was, in part, to make the investigation smoother, but there was something significantly irrelevant about patting Sumo and creating a subfolder specifically to store sports articles and match results pertaining to the Detroit Gears.

The questions about Connor's education are the ones he feared most. Fortunately, the form provides a selection of more popular police academies, followed by an input box for those not on the list. It provides an opportunity for Connor to justify his lack of education. He breezes through them easily, surprising himself at how much easier they had been than the standard questions. Connor eventually lists Hank at the top of his emergency contacts, followed by Markus and — as a final resort — CyberLife.

It isn't long before the .pdf is filled. Every empty rectangle is accounted for, leaving Connor with a sense of comfort that one might call [belonging]. He emails the document to Fowler just in time for lunch.

_ -19:01:10 _ _   
_ _ [until lost control] _

The Chicken Feed is still closed for business, much to Hank's dismay. Connor suspects it will remain that way for a while. The owner, Gary Kayes seemed to hold an anti-android sentiment. He certainly hadn't been radical, but Connor has revisited the memory log enough to realise the human had a similar sentiment to Hank, as many of those he interacted with outside of work must have. It is likely that he has evacuated Detroit and is taking his time to return. If Hank comes to the same conclusion, he doesn't mention it as they drive past the unattended trailer; only lightly vandalised.

Connor turns to look at Hank as the Chicken Feed fades into the background of the city. It's snowing lightly, grey sky stretching, endless, above them. It occurs to Connor in that moment that he finds the snow... not ideal – it freezes his biocomponents, slowing his thirium, and if he stares too long his analytical programs attach the sight to memories of a frosted garden, or a windy park, with the cold pressure of a gun against his forehead.

Hank is unusually quiet. It isn't that he doesn't talk; the man is usually content to surround them with clanging instruments and throaty screams – an outdated radio blaring the music of a band that's been broken up for a decade. That's where the problem lies.

All Connor can hear is the rush of the car along the road, Hank's breath, the creaking springs of a dancing hula girl ornament, the gentle squeaks of jeans against leather. The radio isn't broken, so why hasn't Hank turned it on?

_ [| QUIET. | TROUBLED. | DESTINATION. | WORK. |] _

It might be best to approach the matter directly. "You didn't put any music on," Connor points out, nodding at the radio.

Blinking; pulled from some fugue, Hank's eyes then shift to Connor. "Huh? What, you wanted to listen to something?"

Connor considers confessing that – yes – he would like to listen to something [[Ahmad Jamal, he found himself most fond of]]. However, he registers the loss of focus and persists with his initial mission. "It's... uncharacteristic of you. Is there something wrong?"

A click of Hank's tongue, the man turns down a road, and he sees a sign signalling the last place Connor expected the man to go for lunch – a supermarket. Bright, glowing lights above a square building. Hank shoves a beanie at Connor at the same time as Connor recognises a familiar sign on the door. It's been vandalised with a thirium blue sharpie, but if the owner agreed with the sentiment they could have simply removed the sign. Upon closer inspection, the strokes are too clean to have been made by a human anyway.

**WE ARE ALIVE** **  
** ~~~~**NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED** **  
** **Owners will be prosecuted** **  
** **NO ONE OWNS US**

"Put this on," the Lieutenant orders, and Connor complies. Not because he must; even before deviating Hank never had any authority over Connor.

The beanie slides over his head, thick wool covering his LED to any passers-by. "Lieutenant?" Connor presses. Now not only is he confused about the radio's silence, but also the shopping trip. They step out of the car, walking towards the front door.

"It's Thanksgiving," Hank says as the door slides open for him. "Didn't anybody tell you?"

It offers little clarity. " _ I know _ ," Connor replies defensively. In a lower voice, so as not to alert other shoppers; "CyberLife installed my calendars with a comprehensive database of important dates... I still don't see what that has to do with your unusual behaviour."

"Thanksgiving Dinner?" Hank asks, as if it should be obvious. "It's been years since I made up a roast turkey. I make a pretty mean one, too." Mean: synonym for nasty, or alternatively for average. Despite the confession erring on the negative, Hank seems boastful as he says it.

As he mulls over Hank's words – one word, mean, which has far too many potential meanings that don't fit the context – they step inside the grocery store. "I mean you can't taste... least I hope you can't with what you put in that mouth, and there's only the two of us. But whatever we don't eat – leftovers. Since... well, not having the Chicken Feed around I haven't been sure what to do with myself."

As he says it, Hank grabs a basket, shoving items into it haphazardly. The turkey, of course: three pounds, genuine turkey, use-by 11/26. Then butter, flour, an assortment of vegetables. Mentally, Connor compounds the price, which is rising quickly. It's getting awfully expensive for just one night, with just one human.

"You don't need to do this for me, Hank."

"Nonsense."

"No, really." Connor's eyes shift, scanning to be sure nobody overhears. His volume drops. "I would only be able to manage a few mouthfuls of food. This is a... rather expensive meal to buy specifically for someone who cannot eat."

Hank pauses at a shelf; small carton of sugar in his hand. He stands still, hesitating, for a long moment before dropping it in the basket with the other items – another two dollars to Connor's calculation. "...It's not about the food, I guess." Hank says after a moment, already seeking out the next item on his list: tinned cranberries crashing into the basket with a thunk.

There's a rigidity to Hank's shoulders that Connor recognises, and he immediately regrets interrupting Hank's euphoria. "What...  _ is _ this all about, then, Hank?"

Hank sighs, and it's the most  _ Hank  _ Connor has seen him since they left the precinct. "Fuck, Connor... You're  _ here _ ," Hank explains, waving his free hand to gesture at the android. "And you came back today of all days, and- well, I'm thankful for that. Haven't been thankful for anything on thanksgiving for... a long time, really."

"...I understand." It's an automatic response, meant to dispel arguments, but Connor means it. He understands. Or he thinks he does. This is the first time Hank has felt he could celebrate the holiday since... [ _ before _ ]. What Connor doesn’t understand is how he feels about that. 

Other than some banter over the price of the trip, they pass through the store quietly after that. Connor announces when they reach forty dollars, and from there Hank makes an admirable attempt to interfere with Connor's calculation – disallowing him from testing the weight of produce, attempting to grab things without Connor seeing the label, and at one point even sending Connor to the other side of the store while he fills the basket without him.

It's quickly becoming an inconvenient weight and Connor offers to take it since he cannot strain his muscles. Hank protests at first— "Then you'll just use your damn math brain and work out the prices" — but a string of warnings about long term muscle damage eventually shuts him up. Instead, he upgrades to a cart to push the groceries around.

Beyond the comfortable silence between himself and Hank, Connor picks up talk all around the store. It's Thanksgiving Day, he recalls, which is often a day for families to get together and have turkey. Traditionally it is a day of harvest, but in the age of commercialism the celebration has shifted. Connor struggles to understand the persistence of traditions beyond their intended purpose; the way they morph until they have a new meaning, completely separated from their origins.

It's a form of evolution that extends beyond logic. [[So is deviancy.]]

In the traditional sense, thanksgiving is in grateful respect of a bountiful harvest, but Hank used the term to describe his feelings for Connor's return. He seemed to imply that before, this would have also described his feelings for Cole – perhaps even Cole's mother.

The snippets of conversation he overhears struggle to come together, his audio processors straining to separate them from other noise. It's all quite confusing. Rattling of trolleys. Beeping of machines. Excited squeals from young children. Shaking of cereal boxes. Connor can hear  _ everything _ , but understanding what he’s hearing is more complicated.

"So how much is this costing me?" Hank asks Connor, despite his unsubtle attempts to interfere with Connor's calculations throughout their trip. "I'm gonna guess seventy-eight dollars."

"You're close, Lieutenant. It's going to be between seventy-nine and eighty-four dollars... including tax. I'd be able to give you an exact number if you had let me make my prediction unhindered."

"It’s more fun if you just guess, Connor."

Hank Anderson is a puzzle Connor is never going to solve. Every time Connor thinks he's close to understanding Hank truly, something new and peculiar shows up. Such as the vague use of the word 'mean', or his emotional approach to Thanksgiving, or his conflicting opinions on whether Connor should calculate the sum of their groceries. Perhaps they'll be stuck adapting to one another for the rest of eternity. A constant state of synchronisation. 

Two ends of a see-saw. Two sides of a coin. Connor reaches into his pocket to roll a quarter along his fingers, and he thinks he would like that – a mission he can never complete, but one that will always be a priority.

A self-designated purpose.

With a metallic chime, Connor flicks the coin into the air. It turns several times before landing in his palm, and he launches it to his opposite hand. [ _ Guess _ ]? Connor isn’t so great at guessing. It’s unproductive. Creating a theory without sufficient evidence seems likely to interfere with an investigation. [[This isn’t an investigation.]]

Connor should have enough data to create a logical estimate. Logically, the one answer that has the highest chance of being close to accurate would be the median of his range. “Eighty-one dollars and fifty cents?”

Hank scrutinizes Connor and reaches for a nearby fridge. He pulls a sandwich – pickles, artificial beef, olive oil butter, white loaf – out and places it in the cart, immediately throwing Connor’s calculations. “We’ll see,” he says. “Looks like that’s it.”

The price is $79 in the end; Hank declares victory.

* * *

 

A distress call reporting a domestic was filed at 5:47PM. The call came from a male caller. He claimed reason to believe a little girl was in grave danger from her own father – her guardian having been overthrown. Last he heard of her, it seemed she was going to assist her guardian.

At 5:59PM two patrol officers arrived on scene. The girl was gone. Her guardian, too. Door wide open. The abusive father was the only one remaining – a bullet through his chest on the second floor. The assignment was pushed up to Connor and Hank, which might have been for the best, as all they were doing was catching up on cases. While Connor is grateful his opinion is valued, he sees little to be gained from the exercise. His strengths are on a crime scene. The Lieutenant has excellent deductive skills, and the emotional empathy to fill in the gaps. There was very little for Connor to add. Instead, Connor ends up relaying the report to Hank as they make their way to the site. 

Connor steps out of Hank's passenger seat. With insufficient funds to purchase a taxi, Connor is [thankful] that the Lieutenant insists on driving him everywhere.

The crime scene is within a suburban two-storey house. Connor confirms the date of manufacture as March of 1994, about the same age as his calibration coin but in a state that is nowhere near as pristine. The garden is neglected, and the building weary. Connor predicts that it is in the late years of its life and will be inevitably bulldozed should nobody inherit it from the victim – homeowner Todd Williams. The district is quickly becoming a ghost town; a hotspot for looting even before the evacuation. There is something unsettling about it.

The cobblestone path to the stairs provides Connor's first clue. He stops in his tracks, allowing Hank to rush ahead as he examines the smooth stones – one of them procuring a splash of thirium that has already evaporated, but which Connor's processors are built to respond to.

He crouches in the dirt. It is dry already, and there is no chance he can use the residue as a sample. However, it confirms to him that androids are involved in this case. Whichever android is involved is injured, too. The picture forming in his head is a familiar one - he's seen this crime scene a dozen times before. 

Connor rights himself, pacing quickly to catch up with Hank. "This is another deviant crime," He points out once he reaches the Lieutenant.

Hank hums. "That's why we've got it. I've got first claim on all android crimes, and I'm dragging you with me."

A new piece of the puzzle of Hank Anderson settles into place – even after Connor deserted him, Hank's been doing as much as he can for the revolution. It makes Connor regret doing nothing but sitting idly in his abandoned house with a half-crazed, dangerous deviant. "It seems the revolution has done little to improve the way things are."

"It always gets worse before it gets better," Hank huffs. "But that's why we need good cops like you."

That comment makes Connor feel... [[appreciated; proud; loved]] pleasant. The feeling is mild, immediately overcome by a low, critical voice — [[Mission Failed]] "I could have done more... These last two weeks. But I chose not to."

"If we're talking about you, Connor, then I already know you had a good reason. So cut the crap with that self-loathing shit." Hank says, inspecting the door. Probably for signs of a break-in. There's no break in his statement for doubt or argument. 

"I..." Connor struggles for something to say, "Yes, Lieutenant."

Connor scans the house as soon as he crosses the door's threshold. Inside, it is only slightly less neglected – mildew clings to the walls, broken bottles sprawl along the floor they stand on and a sachet of red ice sits on the coffee table in plain sight. However, the corners are free of webbing, the shelves are dust-free and neat.

It's been cleaned on the most basic level, but it is clear that whoever lives there is generally fairly messy. A housekeeper model [lives] here, Connor guesses.

In the kitchen, he finds the excess of blue blood he has been looking for. There's a thick enough, recent enough mess of it that he can gain some info from it. That is where he starts, kneeling beside the gore and placing his finger in it. Gathering a reasonable sample, he presses his fingers onto his tongue.

"Christ, Connor! Is that necessary!? It takes a day to get forensics on it..."

_ ANALYSE ... Oral_Sample _

_ Match Found: _ _   
_ _ Thirium 310 _ _   
_ __ AX400 #579 102 694

_ Contains Traces of… _ _   
_ _ Seminal Fluid _

Connor blinks. Twitches as he looks at his blue-tinted fingers. He blinks again, this time with a shake of his head as he moves on. Ignoring Hank's comment, Connor stands, inspecting the rest of the kitchen. There is thirium on the edges of the preparation table and sprayed over the refrigerator door; a trail along the floor leading up. Connor finds no obvious weapons – it seems the house itself has become the weapon. Still, his theory is confirmed – a housekeeper model had been present.

He follows the thirium, finding that it leads up the stairs. Hank is already up there, apparently having escaped from Connor's sampling method. Now, he's indulged in the sampling methods of a fellow human — a forensics analyst bagging the samples.

There's more blood leading up the stairs. Apparently, the deviant fell and bled further while on the stairs. However, something about the pattern does not suit. The area is too focused; too narrow, and it's on the other side of the stairs than the pattern Connor was following; a pattern which does not change to account for the misstep.

He checks briefly to make sure Hank is looking away. Connor licks his finger before he takes another sample, sanitising the digit before he dips it into the other puddle.

_ ANALYSE ... Oral_Sample _

_ Match Found: _ _   
_ _ Thirium 310 _ _   
_ __ YK500 #579 301 790

Two androids. The child had also been an android.

Connor continues up the stairs towards the body. As he approaches it, Hank places a hand out to stop him. "He's already been ID'd, we know the guy's an alcoholic and an addict. There's not much else you can tell us from a sample."

Raising an eyebrow, Connor refrains, as Hank asks. Rather than analysing the blood, he takes in the external information the body provides. First, running an ID check to confirm the owner of the house.

_ ANALYSE … _

**WILLIAMS, TODD**

**DOB 21/09/1995 // Unemployed** **  
** **Criminal Record:** **  
**2036/ Domestic Violence

 

The bullet entered through the back of his shoulder, pointed down towards his ribs, though at an unusual angle. The shot was fired from a metre of distance judging from the impact wound, and since the victim sprawled forward onto the floor without signs of blunt trauma, it seems he was shot while close to the floor.

 

The blood from the exit wound doesn't quite match his position however.

 

_ RECONSTRUCT ... _

"He's been moved," Connor explains. "Somebody moved him, but not by a lot." The reconstruction formulates in his head. "They were beneath him... Two androids. One being attacked by the victim. The other, scared, shot the victim."

Hank is only somewhat impressed. "Both androids, huh?"

Connor nods. "The thirium on the stairs – the pattern isn't quite right. One was an AX400, the other a YK500."

"One of those is the cheap maid ones, right? Makes sense in a dump like this. What's the YK500?"

"An android built to resemble a child – unlike most androids YK500s can be built in any gender variation. We'll have to confirm the gender." Connor is already logging the CyberLife Nursery where the YK500 was 'adopted'. Child models have always been somewhat unusual in their production. 

"Women and children," Blue eyes stare down at the victim, glazed over. "So, it was the woman who killed him, then? To protect the kid. Like mothers picking up cars?"

"There were no cars involved in this murder, of that I am sure."

The patterns on the floor, the angle of the gun. Connor frowns, not confident in Hank's assessment. Though he can see why it would make the most sense, the subtleties of physics don't corroborate, his reconstruction refutes it. "I believe it may be the other way around... It looks to me as if the YK500 shot the victim."

This confession makes Hank look pained. He presses his face into his hands, grasping at his hair.

"Jesus fucking Christ..."

"I would like to investigate some more. I still haven't reconstructed the scene downstairs, let alone the scene up here remains only partially explored."

"Yeah, whatever. We've got plenty of time."

_ -13:24:39 _ _   
_ _ [until lost control] _

"Yes, of course." Connor frowns, analysing the specks of blue blood on the floor, following them into what must be the YK500's bedroom. Connor isn't sure what sort of person gives an android they are so openly cruel to a bedroom, but he rules it an unnecessary query as he sets to investigating.

The door hinges are loosened, with new grooves in the wood surrounding where the lock would fasten. The victim attempted to force his entry into the room. However he hadn't quite succeeded. Already, the entire scene downstairs is making sense, too.

Connor sifts through the drawers to find the murder weapon, or where it may have been kept. In its place, he finds drawings – crayon drawings of a man hurting a woman, beating her. Then drawings of him hurting a child. Then drawings of them as a happy  _ human  _ family (the word human is scrawled around the drawing in a border). Finally, he spots drawings of a little girl, surrounded by blue scribble. The drawing is neatly labelled  _ Me and rA9 _ . Connor's LED swirls yellow as he examines these drawings. They are... _disturbing_. Connor is disturbed. He puts them back away quickly.

He scans the drawers briefly, resolving to make it through the crime scene faster. There's only one anomaly, which he finds in the crayon box – an LED that has been torn out, rather unprofessionally, at that.

There is no sign of the murder weapon.

Connor moves to the next room, a drawer ajar. There's a slim layer of dust at the bottom, disrupted by a gun-shaped clean spot. This is where the gun belongs. Unsettlingly, right beside a prescription bottle of antidepressants.

Now all he needs is to go downstairs and he'll be able to view the scene in full. While there this time, Connor looks for the YK500's position when the violence began – he manages to single it down to one of the dining chairs, which has a fox teddy leaning against the leg.

_ RECONSTRUCT ... _

"I'm finished, Hank!"

"The androids have... been through a lot," Connor begins. "The victim abused them both regularly – there's enough proof to confirm physical abuse of both androids. Possibly sexual abuse of the AX— the woman."

"How the fuck could you tell that one?" Hank asks. "Rape? Christ..."

"The blood." Connor states. "In her blood, there was traces of seminal fluid. AX models are not meant to eat anything. Most of us are made only to ingest thirium, so that's where anything else we ingest would go automatically. Swallowing things you are not made to swallow would not only be uncomfortable, it could inhibit your ability to function. However, I can't confirm that our victim was the abuser without a positive match on DNA."

Hank looks at the blue puddle in the kitchen mournfully. "You found that in her blood... huh..." Connor thinks he sees the Lieutenant shudder. "I'll make sure we grab a sample of that, uh... What about the plates then?"

Connor raises an eyebrow. "The plates?"

"Three people lived here. One human, two androids. And androids don't eat. But there are three plates." He points at the table, then back to the kitchen sink.

Connor approaches the kitchen, seeing what it is Hank means. There are two plates, both of them used recently, covered in a substance he cannot be certain of but he thinks is –

"It's just cranberry sauce," Hank says firmly. Connor pauses, his finger hovering near the plate's surface. "You don't need to check it."

"I apologise, Lieutenant. It has been a while since my last time at a crime scene. I was simply eager to gather as much evidence as possible."

Hank gives Connor a look that he recognises as unimpressed. Connor looks at the three identical sets of knives and forks. The cups, however, there are only two of. He lifts one of them, looking inside to find them half-filled and quite feral. "Turkey," he murmurs.

"I don't think it's typical to eat food from a cup, even for androids."

"It's been chewed on.. They were pretending to eat." It occurs to him that it has little to do with the case. However, it offers a slight adjustment to his reconstruction, which morphs in front of him to suit the new information. It's slight, but Connor prefers to be thorough regardless.

"Well. Anyways, the female android was cleaning up their dinner. The victim approached her. It may have been an advance, or it may have been an attack. Regardless, it's likely it became a struggle. One of the androids' LED's was removed messily, so it's likely they were under pressure to seem human."

Hank nods in understanding, eyes distant as he follows Connor through the kitchen into the dining room. "The child saw the woman getting attacked. She must have been in shock," he hears Hank mutter a  _ No shit _ , "because it took a long time for the woman, to get up again. She was likely hit on the head.

"The child – a girl, it seems – ran up the stairs. She got caught halfway, though," Connor takes the stairs two at a time, stopping at the very top. "She hid in her room. This is where she must have called the man who reported the crime. The victim tried to break in, but before he could, the woman was up again, and attempted to attack him. While they were fighting, the child took the chance to escape her room."

There's a long moment where Connor simply stares at the fallen man. He does not feel anger or horror; only apathy. Somebody like that doesn't deserve to exist, but yet the man is the one who became the victim in the end. Humans might refer to the occasion as sweet, but Connor feels... He's not sure what.

"Rather than run for safety, she went into the master bedroom, where she knew there would be a gun. She took it, and shot the victim, who was on top of the woman."

The reconstruction drops away, leaving Connor suddenly feeling exhausted feeling exhausted all of a sudden. He turns, looking at the open front door. "They escaped through the door, and caught the bus at 5:48PM."

Hank seems to notice, because he wraps an arm around Connor, rubbing his shoulder as if it might bring some warmth or energy back into him, but Connor's android body has no such response to signs of affection. Connor sighs, appreciative.

"You did good, kid. First day back and already you're already catching stuff I missed. Let's go for dinner."

Connor nods, a finger absently raising to his LED.

_ -13:00:01 _ _   
_ _ [until lost control] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not American, so I hope I'm capturing the Thanksgiving mood right. My technique so far has mostly been to relate it to Australia Day (as peculiar as a comparison as it may be, it makes sense to me). Also, sorry this story is kinda slow, and takes forever to actually get anywhere. I can't promise it'll speed up, but at least we're getting to the meat of it now.

**Author's Note:**

> I post a [draft on Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/156831947-the-myth-of-freedom) just over a week before posting here if you'd rather follow that version, however, the quality is improved before I post here and I do not have the time to update the Wattpad version frequently.
> 
> I'm a nerd who loves to listen to music as I write. If you're interested, I listen to a general DBH playlist I created for myself. You can find it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/no0xzop2ml4gc6529wdkuqv08/playlist/2ABjbDUALhZDQJvdjpRbZV?si=vHz7fAR2SCO-8BcCZHg2wQ).


End file.
